


Invictus

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Obscurial Newt Scamander, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Instead of banning all wizards from WWI, the ministry chooses a select few for mandatory service to quiet the masses while continuing to exert control. Newt Scamander, rather than fight in a war he doesn't believe in, decides to suppress his magical powers for as long as he can. More than two decades and a prophecy later, Gellert Grindelwald and Percival Graves race each other to find the Obscurial with the power to change the wizarding world forever.





	1. Vicissitude

_[vicissitude / v_ _əˈsis_ _əˌt(y)o_ _͞od / a change of circumstances or fortune]_

 

The 1900s were just beginning to bud when a Seer predicted the horror that would be the First World War. First, because there were also vague predictions of a second, though everyone was more focused on the immediate future when a group of centaurs got together to determine when exactly the war would take place. Within the next two decades, they said, and ‘great wizards would aid on the war front, though their work would have to be kept secret.’

The tensions in the wizarding world reached a peak in those few short years before the war happened, half of the magical community wanting to help while the other half insisted it would end up breaching the Statute of Secrecy. After a near war within the wizarding world, it was decided they would help the Muggles under the strictest regulations, and only certain families were allowed. Families that had worked with the ministries for many years, families who could be trusted not to reveal the presence of magic to those who didn’t have it. In 1901, the ministries began compiling the list.

In 1902, the Scamander family was put on the list for mandatory service.

**oOo**

Newt was all knobbly knees and wide curious eyes when he approached his mother at age five, having heard of the list and his family’s part on it. She crouched down so she was eye-level with him, and for once he managed to hold her eyes when he spoke, assuming the most serious tone a five-year-old could manage.

“Mum, I don’t want to be a part of the war.”

“I understand, Newt, but we’ve been put on the mandatory list,” she said gently, not one to hold the truth back even from a child. Newt held her eyes still, looking for all the world like a small animal trying to hold its ground against a world determined to crush it. His lips trembled as he twisted the bottom of his shirt in knots, scuffing his shoes against the ground.

“I won’t do it, Mum. I want to stay with you and raise the hippogriffs, and when I get older I want to work with beasts. I don’t want any part of some stupid war between people. I don’t even _like_ people much.”

His mother nodded as if she understood then reached out to enfold him in a hug, holding him close as he sniffed against her shoulder.

“If there was any way to stop them from taking you, I’d find it,” she murmured as she stroked his hair. “But the only out I’ve heard of is a family member not having magic. You’ve just begun to demonstrate your powers, so there’s nothing we can do.”

“No magic?” Newt sniffled, leaning back. He scrubbed his eyes with both fists, then tilted his head in that particular stubborn way he did when he made a decision he would absolutely stick by. The last time his mother had seen it, it had been when she’d sighed and told him the hippogriff that had been born premature was going to die. Six months later and it was the liveliest of the bunch, having survived its low body temperature with Newt curling up to it every night, and its inability to digest foods with Newt dribbling fish oils into its beak.

“What are you thinking?” his mother asked now, smoothing the red fluff back from his face as he bit his lower lip, working it between his teeth nervously.

“No one knows I have magic yet,” Newt pointed out hesitantly, searching his mother’s eyes. “If I… If I tell them I’m a Squib, will they let me be?”

“The minister has people who can sense when you’ve been using magic,” his mother replied sadly. He shook his head, hair bouncing, and reached out to take her hands.

“What if I _don’t_? What if I don’t use it?”

“Sweetheart, you have to use your magic. I’ve taught you about many creatures, and what kind of creatures are born when young wizards repress their magic?”

“An Obscurus,” Newt said bravely, despite the fact that it was something even hardened wizards shied away from speaking about. “But Mum, you told me that even the nastiest-seeming creatures usually only act that way because they’re scared. If I became an Obscurial, I think I would be okay because you would help me control it. I’m not scared of becoming a beast. The scariest beasts are nicer than the least-scary people.”

His mother was at a loss after that, unable to come up with any good comeback to her young son whose eyes seemed too old. If she had to put her finger on any point in his short life that would’ve made him this way, it was probably the moment when he heard that his father had been killed by Muggles on a witch hunt.

Somehow, someway, a Muggle’s memory hadn’t been erased after a magical encounter, and the trend of pointing fingers at people as witches had become the new fad in an era where fear was on the rise. People were sometimes killed whether they were witches or not, and Newt’s father had happened to get caught in their crosshairs while investigating a harmless Demiguise causing mischief in a small town. They had burned him at the stake, and even though the entire town was locked up after that, it was a grim reminder that people could be unbearably cruel.

“You wouldn’t go to Hogwarts,” Newt’s mother said softly, running a thumb across a scratch on Newt’s cheek where a tiny hippogriff had accidentally been too rough. “You wouldn’t make friends or learn magic, and most of the wizards in the world would look at you with mean eyes because they don’t like Squibs. They like them even less than Muggles.”

“I don’t care,” Newt broke in vehemently. “The other kids already tease me because I defend creatures they think are dangerous. None of it matters to me; not what they think, or what other wizards think, or what Muggles think. All I want is to work on the farm and look after the creatures. I can’t watch them all fight. Please don’t make me watch them fight.”

He started to cry, and it took everything his mother had not cry as well as she scooped him back up into her arms. He was different, sensitive in a way that no other child she’d met had ever been, and she knew that if he was forced into the war and then into an Auror position, it would break him. Maybe not all at once, but it would chip little pieces of him away until eventually he was left as cold and bitter as a January snow.

“We can try, Newt,” she whispered as he clung to her. “If you really want to, we can try. I won’t make any promises because you’re my son and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if your powers destroyed you, but no one’s actively tried to become an Obscurial in control of their powers. Is this really what you want?”

“Yes,” Newt sobbed in relief, nodding against her shoulder. “Yes. If all magic brings is hurt, I don’t want it anymore. All I want is to help with the hippogriffs and never ever see a war.”

“Then you’ll be a Squib,” Newt’s mother breathed sorrowfully, because every possible route she could foresee for her son was filled with pain. “It won’t be an easy life, but it’ll be the life you chose. Just promise me that you won’t be all alone with your creatures when you’re older and I’m gone. Promise me you’ll find a life for yourself outside of your beasts, even as an Obscurial.”

“I promise, Mum,” Newt replied, crossing his fingers behind her back where she couldn’t see them. “I promise.”

**oOo**

Grindelwald sat in the dark by himself, running his fingers along the ridges of the Elder Wand. It was a beautifully crafted thing, fifteen inches long with a core that it seemed only Death himself could’ve woven into it. Whether or not the fables were true he still wasn’t decided on, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was the bloody Seer in front of him.

“Somewhere in that incredible little brain of yours, the answer to what I seek lies,” Grindelwald informed her, tilting the wand down at her temple again. She whimpered, turning her face away from it and trying in vain to tear her wrists out of the restraints holding them to the chair. It was such a shame to have to torture a pure-blood witch, but she refused to give him what he needed.

“P-please…” she begged through cracked lips oozing blood. “It doesn’t w-work that way. I can’t control… when it happens…”

“Cassandra,” Grindelwald said sternly, hopping off of the desk he’d been sitting on. Her desk, with its scattered pages of some Divination textbook she’d been working on and numerous empty tea cups. “I have only a touch of the sight, and it led me to you. I know what I’m seeking is something that will happen in the future, and I know that it relates to some wizard. I just need you to give me a little more detail, that’s all. We can both be on our merry way after that.”

Cassandra shook her head in fright, cringing back away from him.

“I _told_ you—”

“So tell me more!” Grindelwald roared, and for a second he thought he’d frightened her so much that she’d passed out. Her eyes glazed over and her head drooped, and he let out a snarl of frustration, lashing out with his wand to slice clean through an armoire.

“ _An Obscurial_ …” a garbled voice suddenly spoke, and Grindelwald froze, slowly turning to see Cassandra gazing at him. No, that wasn’t exactly right; she was more gazing _through_ him than anything. “ _The one you seek is an Obscurial of power greater than any seen before. You will meet him during the black sun at America’s core._ ”

“An Obscurial?” Grindelwald asked, excitement kindling in his chest as he took two large steps forward to lean down and clutch the arms of her chair. “Tell me about him. This must be a child, correct? How do I find him? What does ‘black sun’ and ‘America’s core’ mean?”

Cassandra’s eyes stared sightlessly for only a moment more before snapping back to consciousness.

“What?” she asked, frightened. Grindelwald blew out a noisy breath of annoyance, releasing her chair and stepping away.

“I suppose that’s all I’ll get from you. Cryptic messages that don’t have much specification. Still, it’s much more to work with than anything I’ve had before.”

“W-what are you talking about? I… did I—”

Grindelwald silenced her with a stunning spell, rolling his eyes and tucking the Elder Wand back into his coat. America’s core had to be the bustling city of New York, and the black sun had to mean a solar eclipse. Of course, it could be years before anything came to fruition, but that wouldn’t stop him from going to New York during every solar eclipse there would be until he found the boy he was looking for.

He reached up to run two hands through his hair, eyeing his new face in the mirror adjacent to the armoire he’d cut through. Albus Dumbledore’s eyes stared back, the smirk playing on his face much more sinister than anything the real Albus could come up with. Now that he’d exposed his identity to another wizard, he wouldn’t be able to wear this face anymore; one of the few things that made being wanted so irritating.

Oh well. Choosing another person to masquerade around New York as wouldn’t be too much of a hassle, not when there were so many overworked wizards with no families to get back to. He’d just choose a face that wouldn’t be missed by the people at home, a face that made him look just the right amounts of trustworthy and unapproachable.  

Maybe he’d even choose an Auror next. Wouldn’t that be amusing?

**oOo**

Percival Graves was not a man to be trifled with. He was an Auror first and foremost, and a human being last. In between those things, he was a ruthless machine, an efficient businessman, a calculating monster, and a powerful wizard. All things he had been called, and all things he was proud to call himself. When you were a hunter of dark wizards, the hunt had to come before anything else.

Yes, he most certainly wasn’t the type to tolerate any sort of foolishness, so when Porpentina Goldstein timidly knocked on his door with a file from twenty-four years ago, he almost sent her away without listening to a single word she had to say. The only reason he even allowed her into the office despite her having been dismissed as an Auror was because she’d been a damn good Auror. She was one of the few people on his team who’d had the instinct for tracking down Grindelwald’s fanatics, and she’d been fantastic with their CIs.

“You shouldn’t be involved in this investigation,” he said stiffly as he let her into his office and peered out behind her, making sure no one was paying close attention. He wasn’t worried about his own credibility in talking to her, but he didn’t exactly want to see her get into more trouble by involving herself in things she shouldn’t be. Again.

“I know, Mr. Graves, and I’m sorry. But I think I was onto something before the whole thing happened with the NSPS. I couldn’t leave without at least letting you know about it.”

Graves’s eyes flicked down to the file, and after a moment he opened his hand to accept it. Flipping it open, he found it was little more than a couple pages of transcript that had been briefly scribbled down and promptly forgotten about. Some sort of incident in 1902 where a man with the face of Albus Dumbledore had assaulted Cassandra Vablatsky, a now-famous Seer for her textbook ‘Unfogging the Future.’ Graves had always found most of divination to be a ridiculous concept; you could change your own future, so there was no point in listening to vague prophecies, and he could see why the transcript had been thrown aside with little investigation.

“It’s not much to go on…” he began, but trailed off at one particular sentence. The man with Albus’s face saying ‘I have only a touch of the sight.’ MACUSA kept a running document of Seers, and Graves had studied it intensely after finding out that Grindelwald was something of a Seer. The list was short, and the only one who would’ve been close enough to Albus to use his face would’ve been…

“Grindelwald,” Graves gritted out, moving behind his desk to sink into his chair. He brought his fingers to his temple and massaged it as he read through the file again. Cassandra kept a recording device in her room in case she ever said a prophecy she forgot, so the transcript was word-for-word what had been said. If this was true, there had been at the very least five ‘black suns’ that could be seen in New York since the transcript had been recorded.

“Sir?” Tina prompted nervously, still hovering near the chair opposite his desk. He gestured for her to sit without looking up, trying to see if there were any other hints about how an Obscurial would help Grindelwald.

“No one thought to give this any attention in the last _twenty-four years_?” he asked with barely constrained rage. Tina perched right on the end of the chair as if preparing to flee from the room, scared he might blow up. He tossed the paper on his desk in fury, drawing in a deep breath to try and calm himself.

“How incompetent can my division be? Something this obvious was sitting under our noses all along and the only person who caught it is being dismissed?”

“I’m sure no one knew—”

“That’s no excuse,” Graves interrupted, narrowing his eyes. “I want every inch of those archives scoured for something we might’ve missed. I’ll oversee it myself. And you…” He caught sight of Tina’s expression and softened his voice just a touch. “Good work, Goldstein. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself for never thinking of this. You’ve done good work as usual, and I’ll ensure that it doesn’t go unnoticed. I _will_ have you reinstated somehow; you’re one of my best.”

“If you like, I can help you look through the archive,” Tina offered, and Graves had never appreciated her more. “I’ll start with the dustiest files and work my way up from when Grindelwald’s activity started. I’m sure there’s more about Obscurials.”

“Thank you, Goldstein. And if anyone says a word to you about being dismissed, send them to me. I’d like to have a chat with anyone who thinks you’re worth less than them.”

“Yes, sir,” Tina said gratefully, dipping her head as she stood up to go. “If you need me for anything else, please let me know. Even if I can’t work in any official capacity, I’d still like to help.”

He stood up and held the door for her, mind spinning as he tried to think back to any incidents they’d had with Obscurials. In New York, it had been few and far between; most young witches and wizards saw no reason to hide their powers away. The most notable case he’d heard of was Ariana Dumbledore, but she had been a girl, had lived in England, and had died. None of which were applicable to whoever Grindelwald was looking for.

He was in the midst of considering whether to help Tina with the old archives or search for recent information on Obscurials when the sound of clacking heels and hushed murmurs alerted him to the presence of the president.

He looked up just in time to see Seraphina round the corner and enter the hall, her face set in disapproval as if someone had just given her some incredibly bad news. It was likely that _was_ the case too; she didn’t personally come down to speak with him unless something bad was happening.

“Seraphina,” he greeted, stepping aside as she swept past him into his office. She didn’t even return the greeting; the second he shut the door, she began to speak.

“We have a problem, Percival. It appears there’s some sort of terrorist within the city, and he’s stirring up trouble as we speak.”

“Any association with Grindelwald?” Graves asked, leaving his hand resting on the doorknob. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be staying long in his office, anyway.

“Unclear. I… don’t think so. However, we can never be too careful, and he seems to thrive on causing chaos.”

“I’ll deal with him personally. Do you have any other information on him? Is he trying to break the Statute of Secrecy? Is he a dark wizard?”

Seraphina hesitated, looking unsure for the first time since Graves had met her. When she met his eyes, there was clear confusion in them, as if she couldn’t decide whether to be serious or amused.

“As far as I can tell, he’s a bumbling idiot of a terrorist who has no clue what he’s doing. He’s been running around the city breaking into jewellery stores and causing ungodly messes, but so far he hasn’t actually harmed anyone. And he isn’t a dark wizard. In fact, he isn’t a wizard at all. He’s a Squib.”

Graves arched an eyebrow, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

_This should be interesting._


	2. Panglossian

[ _panglossian / pæn_ _ˈɡ_ _l_ _ɑ_ _si._ _ə_ _n / characterized by or marked by excessive, extreme, or naive optimism_ ]

 

Newt hurried along down the sidewalk, casting surreptitious glances over his shoulder so as not to look suspicious. New York was an exceptionally busy city, marvellous in some rights and dreadful in others, but Newt had no time to take in the sights now. Not with his Niffler lose and causing chaos once again. He really did need to find a wizard specializing in metallurgy to help him with the clasps on his case.

"Sir!" a woman's voice called out, and Newt picked up his pace slightly, hoping she would give up. "Sir! Excuse me!"

He ducked his head and tried to lose himself in the crowd, all to no avail. A moment later he felt a firm grasp take hold of his arm, and he was forced to stop lest he ended up dragging and knocking her over.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go. The police are looking for a man fitting your description and I wouldn't feel right allowing you free if you happen to be that man."

Newt nodded absentmindedly as he tried to peer over her head, a small, familiar shape catching his eye. Ah, there the little bugger was. The Niffler was scampering from streetlight to streetlight, dodging heels and boots as it expertly navigated the crowd. It, at least, didn't appear to have any difficulties with the amount of people populating the city.

Newt's eyes flickered down the street, taking in the nearest shops. A clothes shop advertising every kind of material under the sun, a book store with heavy tomes settled in the window, a bakery that must be causing that delicious scent to waft down the street, and... Ah, there. A jewellery shop with a massive necklace bragging over a hundred carats. What a ridiculous thing to do, putting something so valuable right out in the open. It was a wonder no one else had broken in yet.

"Sir," the woman clinging to him was practically begging now, and he finally blinked out of his reverie to find her giving him an exasperated sort of look. "Have you heard a word I've said?"

"Not in particular," Newt answered truthfully. "I'm afraid I must be going. Would you mind releasing me?"

"I... I just you told that..." She trailed off, looking vaguely annoyed.

Newt was looking down the street again, watching his Niffler grow closer to the store. That most certainly had to be where it was going, tiny nose twitching eagerly. Without looking back, Newt allowed a small bit of magic out, just enough to curl the woman's fingers off of his arm. It was a tricky business, only using a little magic when he could feel a vast pool humming just below the surface, but years of practise had made him used to it.

"What in the name of..."

Newt was gone before the woman could finish her sentence, dodging people in a much slower fashion than his Niffler had. Three shops down, the little guy slipped inside the jeweller’s when a young woman opened the door, and Newt tried to up his pace. He stumbled and the case almost came open again, so he brought it up to his chest until he finally reached the shop. He drew in a small breath and opened the door, stepping into a new world of lacquered wood and jewels much too expensive for the average Muggle.

"Good afternoon, sir," a tiny graying man with even tinier spectacles greeted. "Are you perhaps looking for something for a sweetheart of yours?"

"Sweetheart? Oh no, no," Newt said quickly, eyes roving the shop with expert ease. He had a knack for picking out hiding spots, and there were a good deal too many for such a small space.

"A mother, then?"

Newt began to move through the store, taking quiet steps so he could hear the tinkling of any jewels being stored away. He tried to slip around the woman who had originally let his creature in, not paying attention to her until she put a delicate hand out to stop him from going any further.

"He's with me," she told the jeweller with a dazzling smile. "Aren't you, honey?"

Newt paused in his search to truly look at the woman with the soft, lilting voice. Golden curls, huge baby blues, and little dimples from her smile. Beautiful in a way that made the jeweller tip his flat cap politely and leave to admire her from afar.

"I don't believe I know you," Newt murmured in a voice only she could hear.

"You don't. But I know that Niffler is yours and I have no interest in seeing that poor jeweller robbed. He has enough troubles already."

She slipped her arm in his, raising a brow as he thought that through. If she knew the Niffler was his and she hadn't seen it, that must make her...

"Yes, though I don't read them on purpose."

Not good. If she could read minds, she could find everything out. He tried to slow his breathing and focus only on his creatures, a kind of meditation he'd practised with his mother. The woman gave him an odd sort of look, though she was kind enough not to ask.

Before he could ask if she had any ideas on where his creature could be found, she tilted her head towards a velvet cloth hanging from a display stand. It was slowly being pulled downwards, and at the bottom Newt spotted the tiniest claw trying to look subtle as the rings on the display inched closer to the edge of stand. He couldn't hold back a smile at that, and he set down his case while the two of them inched towards the stand.

A particularly loud step of the woman's heels made the claw pause in its pulling, and Newt and the woman both froze. They exchanged a glance which made the woman nod. She eased her arm out of his and he went on alone, stepping heel-to-toe in an effort to be more silent. The stand was awfully close to the large window with the necklace, and Newt felt rather than saw the jeweller’s eyes focus more on him. He ignored it, growing nearer and nearer until he was finally within range. Then, he lunged.

His plan was to grab the velvet cloth and wrap it around the Niffler, but the crafty little bugger heard him at the last second and scurried out towards the next stand. Newt crashed into the first stand, sending rings scattering everywhere while the jeweller let out a yelp of horror. He ignored that too, now completely immersed in chasing his Niffler. It bolted for the window, taking a flying leap and just barely managing to hook its claws into the edge of the diamond necklace's display stand. It dragged itself up, turning to face Newt as it reached the top.

"No," Newt warned, tipping his index finger to accentuate his point. The Niffler took a step back towards the necklace, making the entire stand wobble. Newt took a step forward. "Don't even think about it."

As if he'd just given permission, the Niffler scooped up the necklace and stuffed it into its pouch. Unfortunately, it had moved too far back and the stand was set wobbling again. This time it clearly wasn't going to stay upright.

Without waiting to see which side it would land on when it fell, Newt jumped again. The Niffler let out a screech and moved towards the window just as the stand toppled over, forcing Newt to grab on and fall with it. A second later, the stand smashed into the window and made the entire thing shatter under its force, sending Newt and the Niffler rolling out into the busy street in broad daylight.

"Honey, the No-Majs will see you!" the woman behind him called out in distress, but Newt was too close now to give up and he didn't know what No-Majs were anyhow. He dusted the glass from his coat without any heed to the cuts it left on his hands, then took off after the Niffler. It had decided to run across the road in an effort to get away from him, straight into the traffic of oncoming automobiles.

"Wait, you!" Newt hollered as people stumbled out of his way. Perhaps there was a possibility an automobile could hit him, but at least the drivers were able to see him. He ran for his Niffler without any heed of the traffic, picking up speed when he saw an automobile careening towards his creature without any sign of stopping. Not hesitating for a single moment, he threw himself in front of it and finally managed to scoop up his creature.

"That was very dangerous of you," he admonished before remembering the imminent danger he himself was in. He turned towards the car, which was slowing at a pace nowhere near enough to stop it before it hit him. There was no time to jump away, so there was only one possibility; magic. Taking a deep breath, he brought up his arm and prepared to try to unleash what was inside of him without losing himself. A half-second later, everything ceased moving completely.

**oOo**

Graves had no idea what to think of the scene on front of him. For once in a long career of hunting dark wizards and working side-by-side with the president of MACUSA, he was speechless.

He'd managed to track the offending Squib easily enough by the string of chaos he'd left in his wake, with this next jewellery shop being the most logical choice based on the Squib's movements. He would've arrived much sooner had he not had to repair so many windows and Obliviate nearly half of the police force in the city. As it was, he hadn't considered his arrival _that_ untimely, yet somehow the Squib had already managed to cause this much of a mess.

"Oh! Mr. Graves, sir!" a sweet voice exclaimed in surprise, and Queenie Goldstein waving at him was yet another puzzle piece in this mass of ridiculous problems. He'd had to cast a spell to cease all movement along with a levitating spell to ensure that no No-Majs escaped this to spread the word to the NSPS. They didn't need a city-wide crisis of No-Majs hunting witches when they already had so many problems.

"See? If you would've just stayed in there, we wouldn't have had this problem," the Squib muttered as Graves approached him. He didn't seem fazed by any of this at all; in fact, he was more amused than anything as he tipped the creature in his hands upside down and started shaking jewels out of it. Diamonds, gold bars, coins, and a myriad of other items all spilled out into the street, a veritable pile of valuables forming by the time Graves had reached the Squib.

"Who are you?" Each word was a short, sharp staccato, much more effective than spitting out curses or wording it in a long, angry speech.

The Squib looked at Graves only briefly, green-blue eyes meeting near-black and then darting away. He finished tickling the creature's stomach and then tucked it beneath one arm, smiling in Graves's general direction.

"Newt Scamander. I'm from a Hippogriff farm back in—"

"Britain," Graves finished, then cursed himself for how much the ice in his voice had thawed at the Scamander name. Theseus Scamander was greatly respected in all circles of the wizarding community as one of the greatest war heroes of their time. He'd saved more lives than anyone, and even Graves had to respect his ruthless tenacity. It was like he had singlehandedly decided to make up for his brother being unable to participate in the war, though his contributions were much greater than those of two or even ten wizards put together.

"You've heard of my brother," Scamander stated, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

"Yes. You as well, though I had no idea you were a terrorist." Back to the point. He wouldn't be taken off-guard again.

"A terrorist?" Scamander asked, his smile growing a little wider as he let out a half-laugh. "I don't suppose you could tell me how I came to gain that status? I've only been here two days and I've spent much of that time chasing this little guy around."

He gestured with his free hand to the Niffler, which refused to look at either of them.

"And I do expect some form of apology," Scamander added sternly. For a second, Graves thought the man was talking to him and he was left speechless yet again. It was only after the Niffler shot what seemed like a glare at Scamander and snorted that Graves realized he had been talking to the creature. He internally cursed again; the Squib was completely ruining his track record for dealing with problems effortlessly.

"We'll speak about it at MACUSA when we get there. For now, this mess needs to be cleaned up."

That said, he turned to the No-Majs and cast a blanket Obliviate curse. It took him another ten minutes to fix up the jewellery shop, distribute what goods the Niffler had stolen back to their homes, and set the street right again. The entire time he was trailed by the Squib, who trotted along happily behind him with a case he'd scooped up from the store. How he'd made the Niffler disappear into it disturbed Graves; just how many creatures were in Scamander's case? As a Squib, the answer should've been none.

"Ms. Goldstein!" Graves called when he was finished, returning to the front of the shop where he'd told Queenie to wait for them. She leapt to her feet, curls bouncing and eyes sparkling. Something about her reaction was entirely inappropriate for the situation at hand, and Graves felt like he'd stepped into a whole different world. One where he wasn't as in-control as usual, where the people around him were entirely too happy for comfort.

"The two of you have talked, then?" she asked, eyes darting between the men. Before either of them could answer, her face fell. "Or not. Sorry, I just assumed you had since you both have the same thing on your minds. I mean, what are the odds of both of you thinking about Obscurials?"

Graves stiffened, cutting his gaze to Scamander. Scamander's eyes had gone from thoughtful to nervous in the space of a second, and he was making a rather desperate expression at Queenie, shaking his head slightly.

"Obscurials?" Graves asked him directly, and for once the weight of Graves's eyes made the creature-handler wilt. "What do you know about them?"

"I... I..."

"He knows all sorts about all sorts of stuff, Mr. Graves," Queenie put in, peering up at him from under thick lashes. "He specializes in creatures, so he's studied Obscurials. Isn't that right, honey?"

"Absolutely," Scamander agreed, a little too quickly for Graves's liking. There was something going on here, and though Queenie was trying to hide it, even her superb acting skills couldn't hide the pallor her skin had suddenly taken on. Something about Scamander clearly disturbed her to the point where she, a witch who worked regularly alongside others who hunted dark wizards for a living, was scared.

"Mr. Graves, I don't think you should bring him back to MACUSA," Queenie suggested. "I mean, it wasn't so hard to clean up his mess and he's pretty harmless, right?"

"He broke multiple laws multiple times," Graves snapped, not one to be charmed by any woman's looks. "Not to mention he has other creatures in that case that are likely illegal to bring into the United States without the proper documentation. Do you suggest I let him go when the president herself came to my office and asked me to deal with him?"

"He'll be deported back to Britain," Queenie said, suddenly losing all sweetness. Her tone became more businesslike and her eyes lost their softness as she became adamant in a way Graves had never seen her be before. "For both of your sakes, I'm _suggesting_ you tell the president you took care of things, maybe throw the Scamander name in. Newt can't help you from Britain. He _can_ help you here."

Graves brushed a tired hand over his face, turning to the Squib listening in on the conversation with apt interest. He hadn't bothered to argue one way or another, so either his deportation meant nothing to him or he had decided he couldn't affect the outcome. Queenie's implication that he wasn't dangerous enough to warrant arrest made Graves take a better look at him, scanning him briefly from head-to-toe. Tall, awkward stature. Wide eyes that kept changing colours from blue to green to everything in between, full of confusion but no malice. A generally mussed look as if he had no idea that he could look marginally better cleaned up with his head full of unruly red locks tamed. Graves let out a long hiss of breath between his teeth.

"Where are you staying, Scamander?"

"Newt is fine. I rent out whatever hotel rooms are available, so tonight it'll likely be—"

"Tonight you're staying with me," Graves sighed, wondering when it was that the Goldstein girls would stop changing his plans. Not that he could mind all that much, since they were bringing him ever closer to Grindelwald. If he had to put a wide-eyed, clumsy Squib up to help him catch the man, so be it. He'd done much more difficult things to catch less dangerous wizards in his life. "You'll be staying with me until you decide to leave this city."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Graves. However..."

"I'm not asking, _Newt_ ," Graves interrupted again. "If I don't deport you even knowing full well the potential damage you can do, you automatically fall under my responsibility. Any mess you make is on me, which means I'm not letting you far from my sight. And I'll need to see what you have in that case of yours by the end of the day."

Newt swallowed nervously and glanced at Queenie, who nodded encouragingly.

"He won't hurt your creatures, honey. Despite all his gruff tone and stiff rules, he's a good man at heart."

"That'll be all, Goldstein," Graves muttered as he cleared his throat, not sure how exactly to respond to a compliment like that. She smiled as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, dipping her head in a nod.

"Of course. I'll head back to MACUSA and let Madam President know you've dealt with it. You boys'll be wanting to head North for a couple of blocks. There's an awful big commotion up ahead that you'll both be interested in." She slid her hands into her pockets as she spun gracefully, only turning her head once to throw a few more words over her shoulder. "I'll be seeing you around, Mr. Scamander. I think you and I should have a little chat sometime. But don't worry; you're not in trouble."

Her laugh was like the tinkling of bells as she Apparated away, leaving both men staring at the spot where she'd been a second ago. Graves sighed again, feeling like this would be an exceptionally long day indeed. He shared a look with Newt, though Newt only met his eyes for a total of one second.

"Shall we?"

**oOo**

Newt hurried to keep up with Graves despite having longer legs. Graves had a long, quick stride as if he knew exactly where he was headed and what he meant to do. It was the kind of walk Newt saw often in wizards who were high up in the Ministry. The kind of walk Theseus had as well, though imagining Theseus meeting Graves was quite the nerve-wracking thought.

"What's a Squib doing carrying around a case full of magical creatures, anyway?" Graves asked without slowing his pace. Newt reached down and shut the clasp on his case as it popped open again, using the extra time to try and think of something that _wouldn't_ make Graves want to harm his creatures. Unfortunately he was a bad liar and the best reason he could drum up on a dime was the truth.

"I'm studying magical creatures because I'd like to write a book on them," he answered as he brought the case to his chest again and ran a finger along the crack, all the way around. "If there's one thing I've learned working with creatures that are often considered dangerous, it's that they're more than likely misunderstood. I think educating people may help with that."

Graves paused at a crosswalk, waiting for automobiles to slow down so that they could cross.

"And a Squib like yourself has no problems handling creatures that could take your head off with one blow?"

"If you learn the appropriate ways to approach and handle these creatures, it's not as dangerous a profession as it may seem at first glance."

That was true most of the time, though there had been a few occasions Newt had used his power as an Obscurial to get himself out of tricky situations. For the most part, however, he had a talent for calming any type of creature under the sun. Plus, he didn't like to use his powers often. Ever since they'd soured and become a dark thing within him, using them felt like it was bringing him close to the brink. Of... _something._ He wasn't sure what. His mother advised that he never tried to find out.

"No offense, but I doubt many people will read a magical textbook written by a Squib," Graves said bluntly as a couple of cars paused and they were able to make it across the road. "I personally have nothing against No-Majs and Squibs, but tensions are high in the community and it feels like the pure-blood ideology isn't going away anytime soon."

"I don't mind," Newt shrugged with a small chuckle. He understood how bad the discrimination was getting even as sheltered as he'd been. One time Theseus had brought friends home from school and one of them had hung him upside down in the air and pelted him with rocks for being a Squib. Luckily, Theseus had found them behind the house and unleashed an ungodly fury on the boy before Newt had been forced to use his powers. "As long as _someone_ reads my book, it doesn't matter. Even if I can change only a couple of people's minds on magical creatures, it'll still be better than opinions slowly degrading into worse views. Imagine a couple of Muggles liking us and calling witch-hunters out in public? It would start a debate, at any rate. Better than mindless hate."

They slowed as they reached a scene of mass destruction, MACUSA employees milling about to Obliviate nearby Muggles and ensure there were no injuries. Graves paused for a moment to give Newt a significant glance, one that carried much more weight than any of his others. He was quite an intense person. Perhaps one of the most intense people Newt had ever met.

"You're a lot more perceptive than you look, aren't you? Naïve and overly optimistic, but perceptive nonetheless," Graves observed, and Newt tried to hold the other's gaze for as long as he could before his natural proclivity towards avoiding eye contact made him look away.

"I can't answer that objectively," he murmured quietly. Graves studied him for a moment more before turning to appraise the scene before them, catching the eye of another MACUSA wizard and beckoning him over.

"What have we got here?" he asked, not bothering to explain Newt's presence. The wizard gave Newt a single glance before deciding not to question Graves's judgement and delivering his update.

"We're unsure, sir. Something demolished the entire building and fled to the tunnels below. Eyewitnesses report seeing a dense black cloud of sorts a few seconds before the thing went down. No No-Majs were hurt, and..."

The wizard's voice grew quieter as Newt walked away, ignoring Graves's look of disapproval as he approached the rubble. The destruction was on a scale few other beasts could cause within seconds, and there was no residue from any sort of magical creature. That, coupled with the description of a black cloud and the lack of a clear center-point where the creature had struck left no doubts in Newt's mind. He knew this destruction intimately in a way that few others knew and lived to tell of.

"Judging from your expression, you're thinking the same thing I am," Graves called as he approached Newt's spot on the highest piece of rubble. He climbed silently and efficiently, reaching Newt's side in seconds. "So, Newt, since we both specialize in different areas but have reached the same conclusion, we may as well put a name to the thing wreaking havoc on the city."

"...Yes," Newt breathed, grip tightening on the handle of his case.

"Confirm it, Scamander."

It was a direct order, as if Newt had somehow been inducted into Graves's team and would now be working alongside the man in this investigation. He supposed he better get used to that.

"An Obscurus, Mr. Graves," Newt whispered hoarsely, trying not to think of his own experience with the subject. "It's an Obscurus."


End file.
